u/Relative-Comedian556

Ever since they had started rebuilding Casita, Mariano seemed to have a knack for finding Dolores in the rubble. That afternoon, they were arranging bricks near what was going to be the new patio.
Dolores silently stacked things, feeling Mariano's eyes linger on her every few minutes. Her heart was racing. She wiped the dust from her hands on her apron and cleared her throat, gathering her courage.

"Mariano..." she began, her voice thin, without looking him in the eye. "I wanted... I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day." Mariano immediately dropped the brick he was holding. He turned to face her, blinking a few times, as if he were struggling to process that she was the one breaking the silence. And then, slowly, that deep, dreamy look that made Dolores so nervous appeared on his face.

"Apologize? For what?" “—he asked, his voice only slightly deeper, taking a step closer.

—Because of what I told you. That thing about me hearing you write at night… —Dolores clasped her hands together in front of her, her brow furrowing slightly—. I kept thinking that maybe it sounded really bad. Like I was being nosy, or like I enjoyed spying on your privacy. And I swear it wasn’t like that. It’s just that, well… as you know, I… had super hearing.” She paused, still feeling a little strange talking about her gift in the past tense.

—It wasn’t like I could choose who to listen to and shut out the rest of the world—she continued, moving her hands a little faster—. And since you usually wrote in the early hours of the morning, everyone was asleep at that time. There was less noise. It was… impossible not to hear you. Your voice stood out, so it was very easy to concentrate on what you were saying. I want to apologize for that. —Mariano looked at her with absolute fascination. It took him a second to react, captivated by the way she explained herself with such sincerity. There wasn't an ounce of anger on her face, but rather a huge, tender smile that lit up her eyes.

"You don't have to apologize to me,," he said, his voice soft and warm. "On the contrary... I apologize to you." Dolores blinked, tilting her head slightly.

"To me? Why?"

Mariano let out a shy chuckle, running a hand through his hair, suddenly seeming to be the one who was nervous.

"Because you listened to me every night... and I don't always write good things. Sometimes I come up with some pretty bad poems. So, I'm sorry for the ridiculous things you had to put up with, and for the disastrous rhymes." Dolores felt the tension in her shoulders loosen a little. She couldn't help but smile slightly.

“No, no… they weren’t that ridiculous. I found them funny,” she murmured.

“No, please, they were terrible. I’m so embarrassed to even think about them now.” Dolores glanced up slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Terrible, like that rhyme… the one about the buñuelo?”

Mariano froze. His eyes widened, and he covered his face with his hand, chuckling softly as his neck turned bright red.

“No… please, I’m begging you. Don’t remind me of the poem,” he pleaded in a whisper, genuinely embarrassed. “That was something no one should have heard. They were the worst rhymes of my life!”

“It was like ten stanzas, Mariano,” Dolores laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, watching him suffer. “You tried to rhyme ‘buñuelo’ with ‘abuelo,’ with ‘cielo,’ with pañuelo

“Oh, no. I don’t remember. I’d rather block that memory out,” Mariano shook his head, still blushing. “And yes, I tried ‘despertó.’ It sounded dramatic, like the buñuelo had lost someone. It was a poetic disaster. I apologize a thousand times.”

“I liked it. It made me laugh.”

Mariano stared at her. And I mean really stared. With the intensity of a lover, a thick, magnetic silence fell where the broken bricks and the noise of the construction seemed to vanish completely. Dolores felt breathless, the afternoon heat seeping under her skin, and the intensity of those dark eyes burning her. It was too much.

"You liked it," he repeated softly, with a devotion that made her feel unsteady.

"Well... I found it funny," Dolores murmured, her voice trembling, looking away.

"No one has ever laughed at my poems. At me, yes. At my poems, no."

"Well, I laughed. And I listened to them all. Even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones." Mariano felt his chest swell in a strange, beautiful way. He was about to take another step toward her, but Dolores, overwhelmed by the frantic beating of her own heart, stumbled slightly backward.

"Hmm... I think I'll see if my dad needs help with anything. Or... or I'll see if my brother needs help with the cement. Yes." Mariano blinked, shaking off the spell, but seeing the tender panic in her eyes, he suppressed the urge to insist. He didn't want to scare her.

"Oh, well. Yes, nothing, it's nothing," he said, taking a step back to give her space, putting his hands in his pockets with an understanding smile. "Go on, I'll stay and finish this up. And... thank you. For listening. For laughing. For everything."

your welcome ," Dolores said, her back almost turned.

""See you later," he said goodbye. Dolores nodded quickly, unable to hold his gaze for another second, and turned away. She walked briskly to the other side of the property, feeling her cheeks burning and a whole turmoil in her chest, but with a huge smile that no longer fit on her face.

Mariano stood there, a brick in his hand, completely still. He watched her walk away quickly, turning the corner among the rubble until she was out of sight. Only then did he exhale the breath he'd been holding.

"Go on, go on," he murmured to himself, his voice filled with infinite tenderness. "I'll stay here." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his cheeks still flushed, and a silly smile spread across his face. Dolores Madrigal knew his worst creation by heart. She had laughed with him. She had been there, on the other side of the wall, in the stillness in the night.
Thinking about it ignited a new spark in his chest.

He looked at the brick in his hand and carefully placed it on the pile.

"Every night," he repeated softly, as if the words had taken on a new meaning. "She listened to me every night."

He leaned back against the pile of bricks and stayed like that for a while, a silly grin on his face and his heart pounding in his chest.

The kitchen was calm, filled with that familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering warmth of midday. Lunch had ended long ago, but neither Mariano nor Mrs. Guzmán had moved. She remained seated at the table, watching the sunlight slowly shift across the ceramic tiles, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. Mariano, on the other hand, leaned against the counter, his shoulders slumped, staring at a point on the floor, as if he could find there the answers his own mind refused to provide. The coffee cup in front of him lay cold, forgotten on the marble.

"Understanding and talking to animals, what an unusual power for little Toñito, but the party was incredible," his mother remarked, breaking the silence with her soothing voice. "I saw you had a wonderful time. Isabela, with that grace and elegance on the dance floor… she was a sight to behold." Although I must admit that when Mirabel showed up and blurted out that thing about magic, well, poor girl, it can't be easy to deal with that. I suppose she needed attention. But putting that aside, I sense you're somewhere else, Mariano. You're here, but your mind seems miles away from this kitchen.

Mariano let out a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his neck with a gesture of barely contained frustration. He turned to look at her, searching his mother's face for something: validation? Permission to doubt? Or simply confirmation that what he felt wasn't crazy?

"It's about tonight, Mom," he replied, lowering his voice. "About the proposal. Isabela is wonderful, truly. She's beautiful, polite, gentle... everything a man is supposed to look for in a woman to start a family with. But I feel there's a huge distance between what I expected to feel and what's actually happening in here. It's as if I've been deceiving myself this whole time." What if I'm making the mistake of my life? What if I'm not sure I want to get married? I'm not convinced she feels anything deep for me, and, what's worse, I'm not even sure of the affection I feel for her. I feel so confused, Mom. Like I've been chasing an idea, and only now that I have it within my grasp do I realize I don't know if it's what I truly want.

She placed the cup on the saucer with a barely perceptible sound. She extended her hand across the table, covering her son's with her own, a gesture Mariano had known since childhood. The warmth of her touch was firm, an anchor.

"Mariano, my love, listen to me carefully," she said. "You're a lucky man. You're about to become part of the most important family in Encanto. But think about all this time... How many times have I seen you come home these past few months with your eyes shining, sighing and telling me how happy you were?" How many times did you tell me that each date with her was better than the last, that you couldn't believe how lucky you were that she paid attention to you? I remember perfectly how you told me about your walks, how well you got along, how pleasant every conversation was.

His mother paused, and her tone became more serious, pragmatic, almost as if she were recalling an investment that was about to pay off.

"You have to look beyond a fleeting doubt, son. This isn't just a union between two people. It's been a public courtship, Mariano. The whole town has witnessed every step you've taken, every poem, every gesture. The expectations are immense. People are waiting for this proposal, this wedding, as a sign of stability for the entire valley. The Madrigals and we are the pillar that holds everyone together. It's a privilege, yes, but it's also a commitment. You can't just erase that with a stroke of the pen."

“It’s just that… when I told you those things, Mom,” he continued, his voice barely audible, “it wasn’t that I was lying. I was really enjoying myself. She treated me well, everything was so harmonious… I felt flattered, I suppose. I thought that was love, you know? Being with someone with whom everything flows, someone who is perfect. I was happy that she chose me, and I let myself be carried away by that idea. I felt so comfortable in that beautiful, peaceful courtship that I never stopped to ask myself if what I felt was real love or if I was simply enjoying the attention. I let myself be swept away by the novelty, by the image of the two of us together. Every poem I wrote, every flower I sent… I did it believing that if I followed the right steps, the feeling would eventually come on its own, as a logical consequence. But now, with the final commitment, everything feels… empty. I realize that I don’t know who she is beyond her elegance, and I don’t know if she knows me beyond my poems.”

Mrs. Guzmán squeezed his hand, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes were warm, but her will was unyielding.

"That 'comfort' you feel is love beginning to take root, son. It's not always a blazing fire, Mariano. Sometimes love is just that: a wise choice, a life shared with someone who's good for you. Grandma Alma is more than certain of this, and the whole town is counting on you. It's the future, Mariano. It's a golden opportunity, don't let it slip away just because you're feeling the normal nerves of commitment right now. You're a lucky man, and that kind of luck isn't questioned, it's earned."

Mariano felt the weight of her words. He wanted to believe her. He wanted this to be the definitive truth, because the alternative—accepting that his heart simply didn't belong there, that there had never been a "fire," only a pleasant inertia—was an abyss he was terrified to look into. He realized that if he confessed his doubts were so real, he would not only disappoint Isabela, but also dismantle the entire edifice of expectations he himself had helped to build.

"I suppose you're right, Mom," he murmured, feeling the pressure in his chest become, if not lighter, at least more manageable. "Maybe I forgot how much all this meant at the beginning... maybe it's me, getting too caught up in things and forgetting how good all this is."

"Of course I'm right, darling. It's just nerves, that's all," she insisted, with that kind and friendly expression that made it almost impossible to doubt. "Go on, finish getting ready. You'll see that when you're there, when you feel everyone's eyes waiting for the best from you, everything will make sense. You're a lucky man, Mariano. Never forget that." Mariano nodded, feeling that the burden was now a duty he accepted with a mixture of resignation and relief. He rose from the table, leaving his mother with her coffee, and walked toward the foyer where the main staircase began. The climb to the second floor seemed unusually long that afternoon. As he ascended, each step seemed to remind him of the importance of his role; each wooden tread beneath his boots was a reminder of his family's position, the privilege of being a Guzmán, and the responsibility of finally being the future pillar of the Madrigal family. He paused for a moment halfway up the stairs, closing his eyes for a second, feeling the weight of the clothes he would soon exchange for his formal attire. The echo of his mother's words resonated in his head, mingling with the imagined murmur of a town already awaiting the moment when he would kneel before Isabela. It was an expectation he himself had helped to nurture, a commitment that now enveloped him completely, wrapping him in a silk that, though shimmering, felt increasingly like a gag.

"You're a lucky man," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible, a whisper that faded into the shadows of the hallway as he finished climbing the last few steps. He walked toward his room, his mind on his jacket and the obligation to be perfect.

"You're a lucky man," he repeated, a little quieter, almost like a mantra he needed to etch into his memory before entering his room. His footsteps echoed on the wood, marking the rhythm of a march from which he could no longer desert.

He entered his room, closing the door behind him with a gentleness that betrayed his mental exhaustion. There was no turning back now; the path was laid out, and all that remained was to dress to fulfill the destiny that everyone, except him, seemed to celebrate with such enthusiasm. The room was silent, a refuge he would soon leave to face the scrutinizing gaze of an entire valley.

"You're a lucky man," he said one last time, his voice calm, as he began to gather his clothes for dinner. Each garment he took from the closet was another step in his transformation. He stripped off his everyday clothes, feeling that with each layer he removed, he was also shedding his last chance to speak the truth. He took a deep breath, straightened his shirt collar, and for a moment, he stood there, in the center of his room, listening to the beating of his own heart, which seemed to tell him something very different from what his lips were repeating. But it was too late for changes; it was too late for doubts. All that remained was for him to be the man the Charm needed him to be.

"You're a lucky man," he finished, combing his hair, and with that phrase as his only armor, he prepared to go downstairs and face his life. Every movement was precise, every detail calculated. He descended the steps, feeling as though his true identity remained trapped in that room, replaced by the image of the perfect suitor. Below, the town and Isabela awaited him, and Mariano was fortunate for that